


Perfect Little Freaks of Nature

by t0talcha0s



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Burning, Clinical torture, Death, Documents, Drowning, Electrocution, Experiments, F/M, Gen, POV Dirk, Regeneration, SCP inspired, Second person POV, Torture, attempted suicide, poetic nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't know what compelled her to open these, and you certainly don't know why you bothered to dig into it as much as you have. Those files never should have been made, those experiments never should have been done, and the two of you should certainly never have seen it, but now that you have.<br/>It's time to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. admonitiō

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in an AU in which alpha Dave and Rose were not killed and were instead taken captive to test an experimental compound (GOD compound) to see the results and hopefully achieve immortality/ significantly raised pain tolerance and body regeneration to deem safe and effective enough to inject the Condesce with. The perspective will remain solely on Dirk and Dave and Rose’s story will be told through the discovered documents.
> 
> admonitiō: (reminder, warning)

The ocean is unforgiving, cruel, and most certainly ruthless. This ocean in particular has taken millions of lives, has claimed a world for a tyrant. However this ocean, for you it provides. It’s an ocean of death, cold and unforgiving and riddled with storms, and yet- it feeds you and provides you with recreation and honestly anything you weren’t given at birth. Atop the, luckily benevolent tonight, waves you see the reflections of an endless cosmos, the glinting city emphasizing the stars on the waving surface. However this reflection cannot compare to the true view of the heavens. The night sky is almost blindingly beautiful, bright stars like holes in the blackness shining through to a brighter world. There’s little to no interference of the night sky now that there’s no light pollution due to cities like the one sunk deep in the ocean beneath your feet. You sit on the edge of your roof, knees bending to allow your feet to dangle childishly off the edge of your building. The stars usually command so much attention, usually you attempt to trace the constellations still chiseled in the sky even after the civilizations who named them are long dead but tonight your eyes don’t stop at the stars, and instead peer beyond them with wide curious eyes. Shades placed beside you, glinting with a reflection of the sky like the gently rocking ocean lapping a familiar arhythmic pattern on the stilts that hold up your building. Ether is defined as the clear sky; the upper regions of air beyond the clouds and it stems from Greek, who’s philosophers you adore and who’s historians novels you treasure, and what the Greeks meant of ether was “burn or shine”. You’re not an etymologist, nor does the subject interest you outside of its historical value, but that’s always itched at you. Beyond the clouds a burning shining world; they couldn’t have known.

Your shades chime from their spot next to you and you’re snapped out of your reflection, glaring at them. Your mind blissfully blank for a moment and you allow yourself to feel. Feel the cold of the roof seeping into your bones, the metal at your bent knees especially frigid even through your pants. A slight huff of breath leaves fog in the stagnant salt ridden air as you reach for your shades. The lenses fog a little due to the temperature difference of the cold plastic and your warm face.

TT: You’re going to freeze.

You figure you have more worry in burning.

TT: Also, Roxy’s attempting to pester you.

You bring your feet up on to the roof, stamping your left one as it had fallen asleep.

“Put her through.” You get to your feet, stretching your arm behind your back, a flash of warmth stabbing through you as Roxy’s messages appear on your shades.

TG: dirk  
TG: dirk dirk dirk dirk dirk  
TG: DIRK!  
TG: *deep breath*  
TG: diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirk!!!  
TT: Roxy.  
TG: there he is!  
TT: Here I am.  
TG: here u r  
TG: howre u?  
TT: I’m cold.  
TG: sitting outside again?  
TT: Of course. But what’s up? What’s got you calling my name?  
TG: ;)  
TG: ;) ;)  
TG: …  
TT: I am not winking back.  
TG: party pooper  
TT: I’m just the wettest blanket.  
TG: the WETTEST ;)  
TT: You were saying…  
TG: OH YAH!  
TG: im p sure weve got a sitituation  
TT: How bad?  
TG: defcon one mister prez sir  
TT: Well fuck, are we all screwed madam secretary?

The lightheartedness of the conversation is appreciated but it contrasts with the heavy fatigue of your feet taking deliberate steps down the stairs to your living room. If if can be so called, it’s a poor imitation of a familiar space, and the flash of silver as Sawtooth’s casing catches on the overhead lights of your kitchen reminds you of everything you have to call family isn’t much of one anyway.

TG: fraid so  
TT: Well what is this “sitituation” then?  
TG: so we both know the drones have been attackign more freequently  
TG: so i was looking ito it and digging around one of their brains and into old experiment databases n shit with my TIGHT HAX and i think i stunbled across some pretty interesting files  
TT: Like what?  
TG: look 4 urself  
– TipsyGnostalgic has sent Complications.zip to TimaeusTestified –

You raise your eyebrow at the file, you could open it on your shades but you’d rather do it at your desk, especially if it’s as serious as Roxy makes it sound. You walk into your messily organized room, stacks of books, paper, and clothes on the floor outlining your unique organization system. You sit down in the old creaking swivel chair, pushing an annotated copy of Horace’s Odes off the edge of your keyboard as you settle in. Clicking on the file brings up three documents, entitled “project GOD” “subject A” and “subject F” respectively. Your eyebrow raised, teeth coming to worry at a scab on your lip. You opened first “project GOD”.

The document which opened was on standard batter-witch military stationary with “Project GOD” in red, bold letters at the top.

Project GOD is classified information and can only be viewed by class 5 or higher clearance. Those without class 5 or higher clearance viewing Project GOD without need-to-know permission granted shall be put to death for the security of the project. Subjects are to be kept in 25x25 feet rooms, walls are to be reinforced with bedrock, a viewing port shall be installed along with a constant security feed, rooms shall be guarded from all sides at all times. Full breaches in security shall result in the detonation of an on-site warhead. Experimental protocol is as follows:

The hairs on the backs of your arms are standing more alert then normal and you bring your thumb to your mouth to worry on a hangnail, a nervous habit.

Subject is to be settled into the described room and given thirteen hours to adjust before testing is to begin. Subject shall be fitted with a device attached to the neck that, if triggered or tampered with, will immediately detonate, terminating subject by way of complete destruction of the spinal cord, trachea and all major blood vessels in the neck. Subject shall be allotted two days rehabilitation time between tiers. If subject survives all five tiers subject shall be placed in the care of project alpha.

You can’t begin to wonder how Roxy found this, and you don’t understand even more why she bothered to read it all. 

Tier one: injection of 38% GOD compound diluted and laced with nicotine. Effects to be studied from a distance, no contact is to be made with subject.

Tier two: injection of 38% GOD compound diluted and laced with nicotine. Subject to be antagonized with various stimuli including, pyrostimulus, electrostimulus, hydrostimulus and incisions across the epidermis. 

Tier three: injection of 50% GOD compound, diluted, laced with nicotine. Effects to be studied from a distance, no contact is to be made with subject.

Tier four: injection of 50%GOD compound, diluted. Subject to be antagonized with various stimuli including, pyrostimulus, electrostimulus, hydrostimulus and incisions across the epidermis. 

Tier five: injection of 100% GOD compound. Subject to be exterminated, results studied, repeat.

A disgusted, liquid shiver runs down your spine, taking hold of you and making your lungs feel tight and your stomach nauseous. The document ends there, signed with the proud, scrawling signature of one “Executioner Darkleer”. Why an executioner is carrying out experiments you don’t know but you figure it has something to do with the “subject to be terminated” and the confusing afterward of “repeat”. Your immediately exit out of the file, hand coming to settle on your abdomen, hopefully calming your stomach. Your eyes land on the other two files and you can feel bile raise in your stomach, the word “subject” ringing in your mind like a dog whistle.

TT: I’ve done some digging into this “GOD” compound.

You’re too shocked to respond to him immediately, still queasy over the newfound information. You attempts swallow the lump in your throat, you’re pitifully unsuccessful. You take a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm and stop yourself from gasping. 

“What’s it do?” You voice comes out thick and thankfully steady. The red reply flashing over your shades almost instantaneously.

TT: It regenerates. 


	2. Perīculum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're elated and terrified and guilty and most of all conflicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perīculum: risk, danger, ruin, destruction

Fresh water is hard to come by in the middle of a vast ocean, salt sticks to everything. Boiling is the easiest way to capture fresh water, boil out the fresh water and leave the salt. However, as a consequence of your ingenuity, you hardly ever get cold water. Right now though even this lukewarm water is enough to parch your dry, constricted throat. It leaves a strange feeling in your empty, nauseous stomach, still churning gently from your readings. You'd thought a glass of water would help but it's just more material to slosh around or perhaps void if your stomach gets angry enough. The change of scenery is a bit calming to your frayed nerves, the endless, black ocean outside your windows seeming different now. Your eyes don't focus on the light but the dark, rocking abyss beneath them. The city beneath the waves. How many of those citizens became "subjects". You can't stand to think about the project and you're sure you would be happier if you forgot about it, but it draws you ever back. Your computer turned magnetic, as if magnets and electricity didn't already have enough in common. 

You attempt to resist the draw, busying yourself with frying up a piece of salted fish, desperately hoping to revive the flavor of it. You often have to salt the fish so you're not leaving your hunger up to chance of the catch, and it cooks beautifully, but can be a bit bland and repetitive. You focus not on cooking, but on keeping those documents and your undying, morbid curiosity out of your thoughts. You're not successful. You end up burning the fish in your distraction. You grimace as you scrape the charred mess off the bottom of the pan, the plumbing leading the, now substantially more deceased fish back to the same waters it once swam in. Hardly a suiting funeral but you couldn't really be bothered to care when you were so drawn to the flickering screen of your computer. 

After a few minutes of staring, disheartened at your computer you made your way to it. You sit in your swivel chair, chewing on your thumb even though the skin is already sore and red from chewing on it while reading the last document. Your cursor flickers over "subject A" and you take a deep breath. Inhale, exhale, and open the document. 

Subject A: David Anthony Strider. 

Subject is 

You immediately close the document. 

You jolt away from the computer, knocking your chair over and you end up on your ass on top of it, your leg will certainly be bruised.Your lungs squeeze tight, breath coming in halted gasps. Inhale, exhale not that easy, gasp, wheeze, hold off a scream. You should close the document, close it, forget about it and cling so desperately onto only what you know. The knowledge you have so desperately clung to for some semblance of comfort and kin. You're not sure you can take having your perception of him so drastically altered, and yet- some sick, morbid curiosity calls you back. The back of your mind, oxygenated by your gasping breaths, tingles with the idea of learning more about him. But surely not in this context, not like this, never like this; you're not sure you could handle reading about his torture. Choice words flash through your mind as you breathe, in hold three four out hold three four, "pyrostimulus, electrostimulus, hydrostimulus, and incisions", "Project GOD", "Subject to be exterminated". But also,

"Repeat." You say numbly, almost in reverent shock. You should have looked more carefully for a timestamp. A flicker of hope flares up inside you and _that_ is dangerous.

Once your breathing returns to semi-regular you pull your chair upright and return to the document. You'd never known his middle name. 

Subject is human, male, 6' 3", 178 lbs, O- type blood, blond hair, red eyes, 36 years old. 

Subject has a history of treason with the empire and was taken as a prisoner of war, generals urged for him to be publicly put to death but Her Imperial Condescension said he should be first to experience the injection of the GOD compound. Subject was bound to the wall as not to injure a staff member, as he has prove himself immensely dangerous in the past. 

You take a deep breath, but it's shockingly calm, almost happy or satisfying learning so much about him. You'd never known what his eyes looked like. They are- were (are?) red. You think you're getting ahead of yourself, if a little optimistic. Your, semi-giddy state is shut down with the next paragraph. Perhaps you were in a bit of denial that he wouldn't have to deal with the tests but the document is unyielding and cruel. 

Tier one: Subject was injected with 38% GOD compound diluted and laced with nicotine. His reaction was adverse, his pupils dilating and heart rate speeding up. Subject fought his bindings to little avail, jerking his arms and legs erratically. As the compound reached subject's heart and was subsequently distributed throughout his body (after 58 seconds, evident by a scream and an increased effort to escape. Subject arched his back away from the wall, titling his head back. Blood dripped slowly down his chin and it is presumed he bit cheek in an attempt not to scream more then he had.) his body seized and then collapsed, from either exhaustion or the effect of the compound. It is suggested to create tests to find the cause of collapse. The empress, upon seeing his state, laughed and proclaimed 

"This little fish looks like he just had his cherry popped!"  and  "he looks like he was glubbin' crucified... Good."  Subject was given two days to fully study lingering affects of tier one. He remained with his chin up, occasionally twitching in shock/pain and sleeping for long amounts of time (10-13 hours per day). 

Your blood feels cold in your veins, or at least very, very wrong there. 

Tier two: Subject was injected with 38% GOD compound diluted and laced with nicotine. His reactions were less adverse, and vaguely pleased, jolting sharply as the compound reached his heart but giving a deep sigh once the initial shock had died down. At that point the subject was then treated with a number of burns, placed on the inner forearm varying in the degrees of seriousness. First degree burns faded fairly quickly, healing fully in a manner of hours (3-5) and injured epithelium was collected for testing (GOD compound was found in injured epithelium in minute quantities). Partial thickness second degree burns healed in a day (standard deviation of 3 hours) and full thickness healed in 36-57 hours. Third degree burns, those extending into subcutaneous tissues, took around a week to heal, with discoloration lasting for about a day afterwords. 

"utterly remarkable" was the comment the head of the project, Dr.[data expunged], gave after seeing the results. 

Your stomach feels like it's stabbing itself, you worry at the now bleeding skin of your thumb. You should stop reading. 

You continue to read. 

When subjected to varying degrees of electrical shock subject jolted, screamed, and foamed at the mouth but otherwise remained perfectly fine. When subjected to longer shocks that should cause serious damage to the brain subject jerked, seized, foamed at the mouth, and collapsed, unconsciousness lasted anywhere from 30 minutes to 6 hours. 

The mental image of the man you'd only seen stoic, put together, and not to mention whom you idolized being tortured made you want to vomit. You grabbed lil Cal and draped him over your shoulders, holding his hands to your chest tightly.

When placed, restrained, in a container full of seawater subject held his breath for an average of 134 seconds before inhaling the seawater. Significantly longer then that of an un-injected subject. He became frantic, pulling desperately at his bindings and attempting not to breath. He was then pulled out of the water, allowed to cough the seawater out of his lungs, and sent back under again. Subject showed a tolerance to inhalation of liquids that those without injection would not be able to handle. 

Subject, when cut, showed an accelerated healing rate, on average 1.87 times faster then that of the control group. Subject was subsequently interviewed after his completion of tier two. 

Beneath those words was an embedded video. The beginning still frame was simply a black frame with the white words "subject A, completion of Tier two". You couldn't possibly click on it. You've seen many videos of him, you watched them on repeat throughout your youth and even now his voice provides a certain comfort to it. You have the inflections memorized, little though there be, and you can recite every tape of him you've heard by heart. The desire for new recordings of him is, of course rampant, but certainly not under these circumstances. 

Your finger presses play without permission. 

Your brother appears on screen, panting slightly and posture bent foreword and hostile, something glints on the back of his neck, his hands grip his knees so his knuckles are white. He looks taller and much more dangerous then you're used to, even in his hunched over state. His eyes are blood-fire red and angry, you've never seen him this expressive, you lament that it's this expression but your stomach titters anyway. 

"Subject name." An obviously distorted voice says. His lip raises into a grimace, showing a hint of clenched teeth. 

"You know my damn name." He grits out, voice gruffer and much more intense then you're used to, it has you gripping Cal's hands tighter. 

"Subject name." The voice demands again, with less patience. 

"David fucking Strider." He says, the voice begins to say something to him but he cuts it off. "And I don't know what you think you're doing to me, or if you _dare_ pull the same shit to Rose but this is going to stop and I'm willing to take extreme measures to do so." His hand, long, slender fingers, lifts and he hovers it over the back of his neck. "So you're not going to be the one asking questions here, and you had better fucking answer mine or you're going down with me." 

"Subject A," the voice says, it sounds smugger, Dave's expression falters. "Detonation of the collar shall only result in complete destruction of the spinal cord, trachea and all major blood vessels in your neck, it shall not harm our facilities." His face flashes through determination, anger, despair, and finally, resolute confidence. His hand lays flat against the glinting metal of his neck, your stomach drops. 

"Well then so fucking be it. I'll see you fuckers in hell." As his fingers move to clench around the metal, the video feed fuzzes and you can see a few black-clothed guards rush in and grab your brother. You're left with the view of his kicking feet and his angered calls. The video stops and you're filled with relief and horror. Guilt floods you. You're slightly elated he is (was?) alive, but under those circumstances. If living is just dying there's no longer a difference. After all

Subject to be exterminated,

Repeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly should have foreseen how long these chapters would be, that's why they will be split up.


	3. Repetēre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've never been religious, but you would pray, sacrifice, repent do anything. If only to kill this GOD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to explain that strength does not increase due to injection of GOD compound, it only provides improvement in body process efficiency, pain tolerance, and acts as an agent for regeneration. It integrates into tissue and blood in a vaguely parasitic way (think: a less destructive Adam from bioshock), hence why it's found in injured skin. 
> 
> Repetēre: attack again, recount, return

You can't sleep, that was plenty evident before when all that consumed your mind was the restless waves and the shining stars above-beneath them. But now it's impossible to even imagine sleeping. Your visions swims with the image of him, angry, defiant, desperate, and you feel you'll never sleep again. 

You recall, when you were younger, how you never were able to get a night of sleep that wasn't restless. Terrorized by creatures imaginary, or real, large and looming or thin and creeping into every pore of your subconscious. Now though, that terror is clouded by hope and disgust and anger and you feel wrong and disgusted and scared. Your back is to your computer, your body draped like a scar across your pool-ball bedsheets, your eyes bore holes into the steel walls of your apartment. 

TT: This is fucking dumb.   
TT: You can't ignore this forever, especially because you didn't bother to delete or close it. 

"Can and will, despite the circumstances." 

TT: What are you hoping to do? Stare that wall into oblivion? 

Or something more useful. 

"It's not like I can do much else." 

TT: You can stop being a coward and face it. 

"Nah." You can feel his irritation burning into your eyes, more then his LEDs already do. Luckily he drops it, his text color was making your stomach churn. Red has never held any sort of consequence to you, blood was child's play and to be expected in a situation such as yours with drones attacking and your regularly scheduled sparring. Red's never held an emotion, much less the sort of finality it holds now. Red's taken a new form in your new image of him. Red no longer runs through your veins, or over the wires of Sawtooth's circuits, red belongs to him, purely him and it defines him. Inescapably red. And yet- they dared to write the name of their horrid project in the color of his existence, dared to have him bleed the red out of his body and simply examine it like it were a lab rat. Red turned rage. 

You roll over onto your left side, dominant arm stuck between the bed and your body. Your computer screen flickers, not yet in power save mode, walls of black text condemning and beckoning. You shake your head at your computer, as if that could rid you of the information it contains. The words remain unrelenting and the strange magnetism draws you to them. It's a standoff, how they burn into your irises, how you refuse them. Eventually you fall like all empires must fall, with plenty of resistance yet little success. 

Tier three: 

God help you. 

Subject was injected with 50% GOD compound, diluted. He was restrained, as he had previously proven himself hostile and a danger to experimental results (See: Tier two debriefing video). Subject reacted less adversely then during initial injection and while he fought his bonds seemed somewhat content to have more GOD compound in him, Dr. [data expunged] theorized this was due not only to the nicotine in the first two injections, but due to an addictive nature of the compound itself. Further research to follow to verify that claim. As the GOD compound distributed through subject's body it took subject only one day for recovery, though the full two days were given. 

You doubt even god can help you now. The irony of such a statement is rather obvious to you this situation, but you figure GOD's never helped anyone so it's hardly an irony worth noting. 

Tier four: Subject was injected with 50%GOD compound, diluted. When approached with the experimental torch he glared at the researcher and spoke. 

"Is making me stronger the best idea for all of you?" All threats were however discarded, and taken as a nonissue. Procedure continued without a hitch afterwards. Burns were placed on the inner forearm (Tier two burns were placed on subject's right forearm, Tier four burns were placed on his left). First degree burns took a maximum of 58 minutes to heal, GOD compound found in injured epithelium in higher quantities then past tests (about 1.3 times higher). Partial thickness second degree burns healed in 9-11.3 hours and full thickness second degree burns healed in 20-27 hours. Third degree burns healed in 4.7 days with discoloration and scarring fully receding after a week. Transcript of a conversation between Dr. [data expunged] and a class D experimenter immediately following burning is provided. 

Dr. [data expunged]: Our previous tests on various other laboratory animals were mainly inconclusive, and not to mention there were never any threats by the subjects.   
Experimenter D: Not even a growl?  
Dr. [data expunged]: None of them ever made it past tier two.  
Experimenter D: I guess a human's just tough enough to handle it.  
Dr. [data expunged]: Or we just have two exceptional lab rats.  
Experimenter D: *faint chuckle*  
Both: *uneasy laughter followed by silence* 

Your mind stirs awake at the plural, "two exceptional lab rats". You're pretty damn certain you can make an exact guess at who that other lab rat is. The knowledge that you could, and the knowledge that your hunch is most likely correct is too much to bear, so you shrug it aside. You've begun worrying on your thumb nail, biting it too close to the skin and you know it'll be painful for a few days, especially when wearing your thick mechanics gloves. 

When subjected to varying degrees of electrical shock subject tugged at his bindings with little avail (this could be seen as an act of defiance as opposed to a reaction to the shocks with his record). Subject was seemingly less bothered by minute electrical shock then before. Larger electrical shocks were more poorly received, with seizing and slight drooling, but lasting affects were minimal and passed completely within 56 hours. 

With your new knowledge of his appearance it's a struggle not to imagine him struggling and seizing, only to collapse. 

When placed, restrained, in a container full of seawater subject held his breath for an average of 4.7 minutes. He was seemingly not only impressed with, but terrified by his new lung capacity. A hint of flailing and confusion in his eyes made this evident. Subject, when cut, showed an accelerated healing rate, on average 6 times faster then that of the control group. Subject was subsequently interviewed after his completion of tier five. 

You were dreading those words and the imbedded video held your fears and hopes. You condemned yourself and clicked play anyway. 

Your brother was restrained this time, sitting in a similar, if not the same chair as the last video, but his wrists were lashed to the armrests. His grimace was back if only to a higher degree and his eyes, trained onto the ground in front of him, were dull, yet when they caught the light an angry glint lit them like flames.

"Subject A" A different, equally distorted voice from the last time said. "Please descri-" Dave's eyes snap up from his gaze at the floor, so intensely it makes you gasp and feel wrong, so wrong, his yes hideously raging yet his face remained defiantly composed. Two clipped words interrupt the voice. 

"Where's Rose?" 

"Subject F's location is classified information." The name and quantifier sit on the edge of your mind, but your (late?) brother's words snap you out before you can get any real thinking in. 

"So she's subject F now?" He jerks his bindings, head snapping down and then back up after he quickly remembered where he was. His hands curl into fists, knuckles white against his pale skin. "If you're even fucking daring to _think_ about subjecting Rose to all of this well then," he lets out a quiet, bark of a laugh, breathless and intense. "I can fucking assure you I won't allow it and I will be sure to make each and every one of you jackasses pay." His voice rings gravelly and gravely against the sides of your skull. The voice lets him speak but ignores his threats completely. 

"Please describe the affects of GOD compound on you throughout Tier four." 

"Monstrous." 

"And how are you feeling." 

"Monstrous." The voice seemed wavered by the repetition. 

"Describe your physical condition." 

"Monstrous." 

"Subject A if you cannot cooperate and respond accordingly we shall have to end this-" 

"Me or this interview?" 

"This interview." 

"So be it." 

"Last remarks?" 

"Someone on this staff should invest in a Mary Shelly novel." 

"Antiquated novels have no use in Her Imperial Condescension's empire." And with that, the video ended. Your eyes looked over to your own poor excuse for a bookshelf, in actuality a few pieces of driftwood strategically fastened to themself and the wall to be sturdy enough to hold all the books you've been able to find and treasure. In regards to Mary Shelly The Last Man and Frankenstein stand next to each other, Frankenstein annotated in thick black pen and The Last Man with a few note cards sticking out in various directions, indicating various things. That, despite your enjoyment of her writings, was not the subject matter you were going to continue reading. 

Tier five: 

Tier five, your brain vaults, not able to process the number. Tier five. 

_"Subject to be exterminated, results studied, repeat."_ You gaze at the computer in unseeing horror. Breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold, repeat. Repeat. If not god, if not GOD, then someone help you. 

Tier five: Prior to injection due to the severity and concentration of the compound subject was restrained on a table, arms and legs bound and with little slack. Subject was then injected with 100% GOD compound. Subject screamed, attempting desperately to escape his bounds and gritted his teeth. Interestingly enough while dispersing through his body the GOD compound caused veins to glow faintly. 

"It is most likely a result of the GOD compound reacting with the common blood, we'll have to have a thermometer in there for the next subject to monitor release of heat." Was Dr. [data expunged]'s response to seeing the injection. Subject was to remain lashed to the table for the full two days recovery period, however due to a lack of proper precautions subject was able to find that the edge of his protective collar could get caught on a lip of the table. Subject purposely applied enough pressure and lift to cause the collar to detonate. 

The hand containing the thumbnail you're chewing on moves to cover your mouth. 

The Empress was initially outraged but after 56 minutes Subject A's heart began again to beat. Blood vessels slowly began to reform in his neck and his trachea reformed (tissue samples saw slightly modified tissue after regeneration). Breathing began at minute 58 and consciousness reawakened (gasping and lurching foreword against his bindings with what looked like full muscle movement) at minute 63. Fear was evident on his face, newly regenerated sympathetic nervous system kicking in. 

"What did you do to me!" Subject screamed after looking his body over, hands continually jerking instinctively to his neck, with no avail. 

"The psychology of a dying man, of someone who has experienced death and yet he cannot die... That is a completely unstudied field. This shall be astounding." Resident psychologist and ethics manager Dr. Ic[redacted] said of the GOD compounds success. 

You feel sick, you can feel the bile rising in your throat and you lock your arm around your stomach hoping the pressure and warmth might help to sooth it. Your back is hunched uncomfortably and you grimace, attempting to ward off any semblance of tears despite your grief. However, a selfish, sickening part inside of you titters at the hope that your brother could still exist, and you tell it to kindly fuck off because not like this, never like this. 

Subject was restrained suspended at a suitable height above a fire, once lot aflame subject bit part of his tongue off in an attempt not to scream, writhing accomplished nothing and after he died his heart began to beat again at minute 51, breathing at minute 54, and consciousness at minute 68. No scarring remained and discoloration lasted only 18 hours. 

When subject was flayed open, chest cavity opened and major incisions on several limbs, the wounds first healed themselves, chest cavity closing again and ribs reforming with a sickening sound, heartbeat began again at minute 83, breathing at minute 88, and consciousness returned at minute 96. Tissue regeneration and reintegration was fully successful, however psychological trauma of death did not seem to decrease, instead subject got more adverse to dying, the process seeming rather painful or at least trying. Subject continually called out for another subject (Subject F who had been in relation with him for many years, including in their treasonous acts towards the empire) and became more hostile as well as more willing to lash out. Experiments should further study affects on psyche. Dr. [data expunged] proposed experiment to find the GOD compound's weakness. After approval by the board trials shall begin soon. Irreversible death is theorized to be achieved within three months of the experiences beginning. Proposition to transfer subject A is to be transferred to this project is being reviewed by the board. 

You read the paragraphs over again, and again. Until the soft orange sun is alighting your back in calming tones that's only use should ever be pink-kissed mornings, too gentle and lovely for this day. Your mind spins, irreversible death. Of course they would want to find the compounds weakness, to better understand how it works and how to protect their beloved fish hitler. Rage and sorrow and something only to be described as ravenous stirs in your stomach. The document ends there, only signed with a censored signature lays beneath what you'd just finished. You close the document in anger, turning violently away from your computer when two words attract your attention in your peripheral view. 

Subject F. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to sneak some humor in there. Not an easy topic to make funny I will admit. I'm enjoying writing this though, it's rather self indulgent.


	4. Monere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monere: To warn, to advise.

The ocean outside your window tumbles and crashes harshly against the foundation of your building, leaving it with an overall smell of rotten drywall and salt. This ocean is by no means a mythical one, no Icarian sea or famed Pacific or Atlantic, you don't have a name for it and you're sure the name the empress came up with was some self-praising bullshit. You can't help but wonder if your brother ever looked out upon those waters, if he feared them or thought of them as home. If he and Subject F ever witnessed a sunset tainting the blue ocean a vibrant pink. You wonder what it was like to live in such close proximity to another person. Your brother and subject F, was it a love story, or partnership, what would that kind of closeness feel like. There's so many "what"s about it all. 

But you know who subject F is. You'd have to be blind to not understand when they, your brother and his tormentors, so explicitly stated it. You steel yourself, because you're certain you can handle it now, Subject F is not your brother, you don't even know much of her except for what Roxy so frequently relays to you, and her relation to your beloved brother. Your mind backpedals for a second. _Roxy._ Fuck you'd completely forgotten she was the one to discover these. 

"Fuck." Slips out of your mouth as you stare at the words. 

TT: Quite a loud expletive over an essentially blank computer screen. 

"Subject F." 

TT: What about her? 

So he had been reading them. 

"That's Roxy's mom." His silence is all too telling and you immediately open pesterchum, obscuring the accursed folder. To your luck Roxy's online and you take deep breaths as you click on her contact. 

TT: Roxy.   
TG: sup stridizzle   
TT: Been doing some reading. 

You know she catches your meaning and you inhale, exhale, hold, repeat until another pink word pops onto the screen. 

TG: oh 

Well that's a surprise. 

TT: Oh?   
TG: how muchve you read?   
TT: Just finished subject A, so I have subject F left.   
TT: I'm sorry you had to find all of this though.   
TG: oh! PFFT  
TG: is THAT what this is bout stridork?   
TT: What do you mean?   
TG: you should read her file   
TT: I plan on it, but you're not pissed?   
TG: yeah its fucking disgusying and im livid and we WILL be plotting to take that fish bitch d o w n   
TG: but that was the first time ive ever seen my mom   
TG: and honestly im just SO proud of her  
TG: she was so fuckin brave 

You smile a little, inwardly, to yourself. As if someone might somehow burst into your painfully isolated room and belittle you for your softness. The smile doesn't mean much, it's mostly empty but it's just a tinge sad. But nonetheless your chest clenches as you reread her words. 

TT: Yeah?   
TG: yeah   
TG: ur bro and my mom   
TG: they were some crazy people   
TT: What does that make us?   
TG: prolly even crazier 

You can't help but agree, yet with no response on your fingers you close out of pesterchum staring down the "Subject F" document as if you were interrogating it. Clicking on the file it brings one up in the same format as your brothers. 

Subject F, Rosalind Martha Lalonde: Subject is human, female, 5' 7", 143 lbs, O- type blood, blond hair, purple eyes, 35 years old. Subject has a tattoo on her left hand which is presumed to be an unknown dialect, subject translated it as "Beware false prophets". Definitive translation is still being searched for. 

Subject has a history of treason with the empire and was taken as a prisoner of war. Public execution was not recommended for subject F despite her famous treasons. She was falsely declared dead during a battle with herself and Subject A against the empire's army. Subject was covertly taken to Project GOD facilities and integrated into the experiments. 

You note the differences between she and your brother, he was considered for public execution, but she wasn't. That baffles you, why not make a statement, even if it might make martyr? What's different about her? 

Tier One: Subject was injected with 38% GOD compound diluted and laced with nicotine. She reacted adversely, struggling at her bonds in calculated tugs and glaring, gritting her teeth and biting back a scream as the compound reached her heart and was distributed throughout her body, she jerked foreword and screamed. Exertion was evident as she fought not only her bounds but not succumbing to the pain, sweating and struggling. 

"What are you injecting me with?" Experimenters noted her voice was strained, and some of her impact then lost. However a (now terminated) D-class personal told her of GOD compound, to which she responded, "eramus deos ante". Since untranslated.

"Eramus deos ante." Your tongue butchers the syllables, English itself is hard enough, this language providing an unknown and choppier challenge. 

TT: It's latin.   
TT: Poorly dictated I might add. 

You know what Latin is, where it hails from. Some of your favorite texts have a note proclaiming their translation from the dead language. But every human language is dead now. You couldn't be bothered to preserve them, history, no matter how interesting, belongs in the past. You ignore his childish insult. 

"What's it mean?" 

TT: No idea, I'll look into it. 

You give a noise of agreement. And flick your eyes from the words on your shades to the words on the computer behind them. 

Subject was given full recovery time, she slipped in and out of consciousness, muttering (mostly indecipherable, untranslated, or unknown words) in the times when she was awake. She was obviously used to the intrusions of the compound when she tilted her chin defiantly upwards and spoke more clearly. Some D-class personnel were considered unfit for the task of dealing with Subject F because they found her speech disturbing. 

She's certainly spirited, and obviously a Lalonde, snarky broads the lot of them. 

Tier Two: Subject was injected with 38% GOD compound diluted and laced with nicotine. Her reaction was less then pleased, straining and giving a scream through clenched teeth as the compound made its way through her body. Once the compound had been full distributed throughout subject's body she gave a relieved, and vaguely pleased sigh. At that point the subject was then treated with a number of burns, placed on the inner forearm varying in the degrees of seriousness. First degree burns healed fully in a mean of 4 hours and injured epithelium was collected for testing (GOD compound was found in injured epithelium in minute quantities). Partial thickness second degree burns healed in 23-25 hours and full thickness healed in 38-53 hours. Third degree burns, those extending into subcutaneous tissues, took about 6-8 days to heal, with discoloration lasting for about 28 hours afterwords. 

When subjected to varying degrees of electrical shock subject jerked and jolted, eyes spasming and losing her breath, having to take deep shuddering breaths to regain oxygen levels to normal. When subjected to longer and more intense shocks subject foamed at the mouth, screamed, and eventually collapsed. She survived, completely recovering within a manner of hours. 

Your gut clenches, churning, it's not nearly as bad as the first time but you still find yourself taking deep breaths to ward off any bile attempting to rise in your throat. It's disgusting, but you can't imagine her so the mental image isn't nearly that bad. But it's certainly chilling. 

When placed, restrained, in a container full of seawater subject held her breath for an average of 148 seconds before inhaling the seawater. Significantly longer then that of an un-injected subject. In one test subject was able to wrench her wrist out of one binding before swimming to the surface, but she was again bound and deny under until she passed out as punishment. Subject showed a tolerance to inhalation of liquids that those without injection would not be able to handle.

She was certainly defiant, her ability to still struggle through these tests was impressive, and you can't imagine how angry the test takers would be with her for it. 

Subject, when cut, showed an accelerated healing rate, on average 2.13 times faster then that of the control group. Subject was subsequently interviewed after her completion of tier two. 

You stared at the imbedded video, you dreaded it, and yet you couldn't help but want to take in the image of this new, stalwart figure in your life. Your brothers companion, your best friend's mother, not much to you but infinitely important to those you love. You click play. 

The screen comes to life and it's the same setting your brother was in, same chair, same (you presume regulation) outfit, but she takes up the screen so very differently. Her skin is dark, darker then Roxy's and certainly darker then your own and while her wrists are restrained to the arms of the chair she doesn't seem alarmed by it. Her legs crossed almost languidly, her posture straight and proper but relaxed, she doesn't seem wary of the camera or her captors. Even in the dirtied (by blood you noted) regulation jumpsuit she possesses an aura of sophistication. Her cheekbones high and striking, her limbs long and plump, her mouth twisted in a mixture of a smug smirk and a pleased smile. Her hair framed her face nicely, it seemed a bit dirty and frayed, and it covered part of one vibrant, lavender eye. Amethyst set in a dark face, laughter lines tinged her eyes. 

"Subject name." Another distorted voice, higher then that of who interviewed your brother. 

"Rose Lalonde." She said, syllables rolling off her tongue with ease, voice the high end of low pitched, smooth and even, a good voice for secret and lullabies. "But I'm more then certain you know that, perhaps you've read my essays on the ideal, systematic destruction of this empire. Perhaps you recognize me from battling your empress, I have, or is it had now, a rather nasty scar from that ordeal." Her smile quirks up for a second. 

"Please refrain from extraneous speech outside of answering questions Subect F." The voice said. 

"Please, call me Rose." 

"No. Now subject F, please describe the affects of the GOD compound." 

"Yes it's a nasty little operation you've got going here. At first it seemed a new age form of torture, injection of molten metal, but it's an experiment to make one immortal isn't it?" The voice didn't respond. "That's what I thought." It's the same tone of smugness Roxy gets when she's right. "Not such a good idea to enhance your greatest enemy. The rabbit does not coddle the foxes wounds." 

"You are of no threat to the empire now Subject F." She chuckled, dark and utterly amused, not seeming slightly sarcastic. 

"Eramus deos ante." She said matter-of-fact as the video ends. The words roll off your tongue with the aid of this new found pronunciation. 

"Eramus deos ante." The words tickle the back of your mind. 

TT: "We were gods before this." 

"You found a translation." 

TT: I did. 

The urge to thank him is there, but you don't dare, your pride prohibits it. You just nod, and look up at the video, the last frame a still of Subject F, of Rose's face. Her voice rings in your head. _We were gods before this._


	5. Primogenita

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The only true birthright of man is death." -unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Primogenita: birthright

You know the extensive history of your brother by heart. You have spent hours scouring ancient internet forums for the slightest hint of knowledge, or a new fact about the making of his movies. You've searched ever corner of your apartment building looking for something more that was his, or could have a connection to him. You know his life inside and out, you've formed a splotchy narrative of his early life (of which there is very little (he's from Texas, where your apartment building would have sat if the old USA boundaries were still in place)) that explodes into a full, accurate description of who he was, what he wanted, what he did when he became famous at 23. When he started his campaign to overthrow the empress you learned about him mostly through relentlessly hacking into batterwitch databases. You've always enjoyed history and the history of your brother is one you know by heart, one which has comforted you when he never could. 

Despite your extensive knowledge of your brother Rose Lalonde sits on the outside of most knowledge you have. You know of her primarily through your brothers escapades, (Roxy doesn't like talking about she and your brother much). You know she was always working in tandem with him, that she was just as deadly and quick witted, she fought with tact and great, horrified reverie from her enemies. Your favorite story you've read in the reports of their heroic battles, has almost become a fairy tale to you now. It tells of your brother leaping and bounding, sword glimmering like ocean waves, with his tactical partner at his back, exchanging banter and snide remarks amidst all the violence without a care, as if they were immortal. 

You let out a snort of air in place of laughter but it just comes out bitter. Since reading those bullshit documents immortality's taken on a lot more consequence. You sit with your chair swiveled away from your computer, foot brought up on the chair to rest your elbow on top of your knee. You let out a breath, and you almost wish it was a cold winter day so you might be able to see the huff of smoke, if only to know your breathing is legitimate. 

"Hal." You say, immediately red words flash on your shades, answering your call. 

TT: More butchered latin for me to decipher? 

He's such a pain in the ass, you don't even know why you bother to talk to him.

"No." Words escape you despite your being the one to initiate them in the first place, and amidst your uncharacteristically lengthy silence he gets fed up. 

TT: Well what then?    
TT: I'm a busy little program you know. Lots of business to attend to. Lots of flesh bags to bug. 

You tamp down the urge to grind your teeth. 

"You think bro and Lalonde are still alive?" 

TT: Don't think it matters either way. 

He doesn't elaborate, but you understand well enough. Hope isn't a wise thing have in this situation. So instead of hoping you swivel yourself back around to face the computer. Rose's smirk fills your vision. You scroll down from the imbedded video reaching, much to your spine-prickling discomfort, more walls of descriptive black text. 

Tier Three: Subject was injected with 50% god compound, diluted. She was restrained as she has frequently proved dangerous to herself as others. She seemed pleased once the compound was distributed through her and the initial discomfort and of the injection passed, rolling her shoulders and giving a pleased smirk. 

"Unluckily for me addictive habits run in the family." She said. "However it's more unlucky for you that vengeance does as well." Dr. [redacted] refrained from commenting. Subject F was gagged for the remaining recuperation days and indefinitely, dictated by Dr. [redacted]'s command. 

You can't help chuckling despite the morbid words, though your laugh comes out uneasy. Vengeance runs in the family does it? You shake your head when you feel nasty thoughts bubbling at the back of you mind, as if that could force them away. 

Tier Four: subject was injected with 50% GOD compound, diluted. She jerked and grit her teeth around her gag, any screams muffled. Burns were placed on the inner forearm (Tier two burns were placed on subject's right forearm, Tier four burns were placed on her left). First degree burns healed in no longer then 53 minutes, injured and peeled skin taken for testing, GOD compound found laced throughout in high quantities. Partial thickness second degrees burns healed between 8-12 hours, with an average of 10.48 hours, full thickness second degree burns healed in a day. Third degree burns healed in 4.02 days with scarring and discoloration lasting only a week. During subject's tier four testing an email regarding subject F was released to the official record.

Dear esteemed colleague Dr. [redacted], 

I'm sure you've heard of the superstition arising within those working with subject F. I mean it's not like none of them weren't scared shitless the minute they saw her, what with the extensive propaganda surrounding her, but now it's just ridiculous. Even today I had to exterminate some D-class personnel for insubordination and discussing test results and subjects outside of the test room. You know what they were saying Doc? That they'd seen the motherfucker's eyes filling with blackness, that they saw some demonic shiver beneath her skin, that they could hear her fucking intoning shit even through her gag. It's ridiculous that we even had to gag her, this empire shouldn't be quaking in their boots because of some broad. Some broad they have contained and in captivity nonetheless, but they don't seem to care, they're still terrified of making Subject F immortal because of some stupid horror stories for children. We need to get our crew in line or these stupid bed-time fairy-tales are going to destroy this whole fucking experiment. 

Warmest regards -Dr. [data expunged] 

You can't help but smile softly, despite the feeling sliding down the back of your neck. It's so ridiculous but so very Lalonde, you can see why Roxy adores her and it's obvious they're related. 

When subjected to varying degrees of electrical shock subject desperately attempted to escape her bindings, teeth gritting against her gag and jerking at her restraints. Larger electrical shocks caused a scream and a much more severe attempt to escape. Subject's restraint on her left wrist was replaced with something more durable. 

_She broke the fucking restraints_ you think, impressed and incredulous. She obviously matched your brothers power, if in a different way, and you know the pull of a Lalonde, you can understand why he was enamored. 

When placed, restrained, in a container full of seawater subject held her breath for 4.83 minutes before she was brought up to the surge to breath and sent back down again. At this time during the experiment the D class personnel responsible for bringing Subject F out of the water showed signs of hysteria, proclaiming that Subject F was a demon and that they ought to "exterminate this evil and give it a burial at sea". The D class personnel refused to bring Subject F out of the water and was immediately exterminated. However when experimenters reached the tank and drew Subject F out of the water she was already deceased, and with insufficient amounts of GOD compound in her system for regeneration. Increased regulations for D class personnel to be set. 

All that remains beneath that is a thick blacked-out scrawl of a signature. You blink, breath, read the paragraphs again, and it dawns on you slowly. Your fingers feel thick, your mind slow, and your tongue numb. The realization creeps into your bones like a cold, too cold, trickle of water is soaking your shirt. Your blank mind suddenly fills with thoughts. What'd they do with the body? Does/did you brother know? Is Roxy alright from it? How did Subje- Rose feel about all of that?

Your breathing picks up, and you attempt to control it, in, hold, out, repeat; but it's unsuccessful and you feel too frantic and scattered and rushed. She's dead, Roxy mother, your brother's beast friend and partner, your family, dead. Permanently, no hope for it, dead and they didn't even have the decency to write like they cared. Dead. 

Your fingers move without your permission and open pesterchum. 

Beware false prophets. 

Dead. 

Your brother's words come to mind. "I will be sure to make each and every one of you jackasses pay." Rose's pop up alongside them in your brain, "However it's more unlucky for you that vengeance does as well." 

_We were gods before this._

You send a message to Roxy. 

TT: Vengeance runs in the family. 

You can feel the smile in her words. 

TG: it sure as hell will 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's that. Not overly happy with the end but it was hard to write and I suppose it is what it is. 
> 
> S/o to whoever caught all the bioshock refs (completely disregarding this entire fanfiction is one big bioshock reference) 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for the layout/ and minute content of the documents was taken primarily from my favorite SCPs Cain (http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-073) and Able (http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-076) (there’s a direct quote from Able)
> 
> If you have questions or comments you can obviously address them to me here or on tumblr (Barefootcosplayer.tumblr.com)


End file.
